


About Time I Made That Call

by hazelandglasz



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Phone Calls & Telephones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 11:50:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4347491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anonymous asked : "klaine, saw their number graffitied on a toilet stall au --- lol, that's something i've never read before!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It’s been years since Kurt went to Scandals.

Well, then again, it’s been three years since he graduated high school and went to New York for his academic endeavors, but still.

He could have come back to the gay bar whenever he returned to Ohio for holidays.

Strangely, the occasion never rose before.

But now, he’s between graduating his Bachelor in Music theory and starting his postgrad in education, and he’s back in Ohio for a while.

Meaning that he has a lot of steam to let go of if he doesn’t want to blow a fuse.

Among other things.

Hence, Scandals, with the few New Directions in the state.

Mason has changed, that’s for sure, but he’s still the same bubbly, optimistic wingman that Kurt can rely on.

So, when Mason, with flushed cheeks, tells him that he should go to the toilets, Kurt is confused but he goes.

Entering the stalls, Kurt isn’t quite sure what he expects: someone waiting for him, a stallion that he can ride into the night (steam, remember?), something.

But not a graffiti on the wall with a phone number and a little message.

“If you’re looking for true love, call Blaine 614-555-0121”

Well.

Kurt could use some true love.

At least his Mojito addled brain thinks so, because it’s telling his hands to take his phone from his pocket and to dial that number.

It is 2 in the morning, but true love awaits for no dawn.

Or something.

“‘lo?”

The voice is young, heavy with sleep and annoyance, but charming nonetheless.

“Is this Blaine?” Kurt asks, and even with the couple of drinks he had, he takes some pride in the knowledge that he doesn’t sound completely inebriated.

“God’s sake”, comes in reply, accompanied by some rustling of fabric–Kurt assumes that it’s this Blaine’s sheets. Or his jammies.

Or maybe he sleeps in the nude, waiting for Love.

“If this is another stupid Warbler joke, someone is going to lose more that their prepuce.”

Interesting segway, but Kurt is confused. “Warbwho? Prepuce? What?”

A deep, deep sigh. “How did you get this number?”

That he can answer. “In a stall at Scandal’s? Near Lima? It says that you’re looking for love?”

Another sigh, and it’s a pretty bad sign that Kurt can already tell that this man is past annoyance. “And you thought that this was a safe way to find it?”

“It put you on my path, didn’t it,” Kurt says, as honestly as he can, and his reward is a short-lived giggle followed by a cough.

“Oh my God.”

“Too much?” he asks, cupping his own cheek as he goes to sit on the lid of the toilet.

“Just a tad, but nothing I wouldn’t expect from a 2a.m. call searching for love,” Blaine replies, and Kurt can tell that the man is smiling.

He doesn’t know what he looks like, but he can tell that Blaine has a teasing smile on his face.

“What’s your name?”

Kurt’s eyes widen. “You want–you want to know my name?”

“You know mine, it’s only fair isn’t it?”

“I guess …”

“Especially if we are to find love in one another.”

Kurt giggles, not sure if Blaine is making fun of him or if he just decided to go for it.

“I’m Kurt.”

“Well, Kurt who is looking for love at Scandal’s, I can only give you one piece of advice.”

“Do tell.”

“Save my number and call me back in the cold, bright daylight once your hangover is in the rearview mirror, if you still want to.”

Kurt’s shoulders sag in disappointment. “Oh.”

“Your voice is nice, and I’m curious now what would convince a smooth talker to look for love in an unknown number scribbled on a stall wall. But I don’t want to have to tell our grandchildren that this was the beginning of our story.”

“Getting ahead of yourself, aren’t you?” Kurt asks, feeling his lips stretch into a fond smile.

Oh, he’s already so far gone on that man, and it’s only because of his voice and his wit.

“I don’t know who put my name on the wall, but I am a hopeless romantic.”

“I see,” Kurt says, straightening up and arranging his shirt. “At what time can I call you tomorrow then?”

Another heady laugh, cut short by a yawn. “I think I will be awaken long before you recover from that particular hangover.”

“Picture me drinking water and coffee as soon as I hang up,” Kurt retorts with a grin. “Wouldn’t want love to wait.”

“No, we wouldn’t want that.”

“Good night Blaine, and sorry for the awakening,” Kurt says softly.

A moment of silence, and Kurt fears that Blaine fell back asleep (and if he did, can he tell Kurt how he does that when they talk in the morning?). But then a huffed breath comes through the phone. “It did put you on my path, didn’t it?”

And before Kurt can reply, stunned by Blaine’s repartee, “Good night, Kurt.”

“Oh wow,” Kurt whispers in the privacy of the stall, returning to his senses when a couple staggers in the stall next to him.

Water. Coffee. Now.

He needs to be in top shape in the morning to pursue this.

This Blaine.


	2. Chapter 2

Blaine wonders who wrote his phone number on the wall.

In a stall at Scandal’s, of all places.

That thought makes him crinkle his nose at himself because, what? It would have been so much better if his name and phone number had been written in gold paint on a museum or on a giant poster or … pulled by a special message plane?

Definitely not.

Though he does count on his name being all over a poster in a certain city some day.

But for now he has to focus.

Because the man who disturbed his slumber in the middle of the night, this … “Kurt”, made good of his promise.

Maybe he wasn’t so inebriated last night.

This morning.

Whatever.

The point is, “Kurt” send him a text this morning (at a much proper hour).

A novel in text form, actually, apologizing about his behavior and for the inconvenience of his call at “fuck o’clock” but insisting that the reasoning behind his call was “sincere”, and if Blaine would like to meet for a coffee or any non alcoholic drink with/or a snack, Kurt would be delighted to invite him to join him at the Lima Bean or whichever establishment Blaine would favor.

Complete disclosure here: Blaine was already pretty intrigued by the man he spoke to in the middle of the night, from his voice to his apparent search for True love.

But that text finishes to convince him that even though Blaine Anderson is not the kind of man who would go to just any date because he’s intrigued, this … this situation has potential.

Plus, it’s a public space, what could happen to him?

Furthermore, if Kurt found his number at Scandal’s, then there is no way that he is a homophobic baboon who is setting a trap, is there?

Before he can stress himself into thinking it more, Blaine sends a proper time and an agreement to Kurt.

Now all he needs to do is find the perfect outfit.

No, he’s not going to dig his old Warbler uniform out of the closet just to show off the way it stretches over his new muscles.

But there’s definitely some merit in the idea of showing off his … assets.

—

Kurt has no idea what took over him.

Maybe it’s the Mojito, maybe it’s the loneliness that plagues him in New York–fooling around with Adam, then with Chandler, was fun, sure, but not really fulfilling, romance-wise–, maybe it’s a hunch, maybe he has a death wish.

But whatever pushed him to call this “Blaine” in the first place, to text him in the … how did he put it? “The cold, bright daylight”, and to set up a meeting–Kurt won’t call it a date until it’s obvious it’s a date, okay–, it’s simultaneously the most excited and the most nervous Kurt has ever been.

And he has auditioned twice for Carmen Tibideaux.

Blaine had messaged him to let him know that he would be wearing a striped bowtie–courtesy oblige–and Kurt is looking at every man entering the Lima Bean like an hawk, his fingers tightening around his coffee cup to the point of creasing it.

Since his outfit will not stand coffee stains–that yellow shirt does wonders for his silhouette, but it can’t survive even a break of sweat–, so he forces himself to relax, returning to his phone to use his nerves on that damn Bear King, when the door once again opens.

And there he is.

Holy sparkly shit on a Graham cracker, God bless whoever decided to scribble Blaine’s number on that wall, and Kurt will have to remember to send a grateful basket to Mason for sending him in to read the message in the first place.

It’s the first man entering the Lima Bean with a bowtie around his neck, and he looks like he’s trying to find someone.

“Blaine?” he calls aloud, wiggling his fingers.

The raised eyebrows–and what eyebrows–are followed by a slow spreading smile that awakens something warm in Kurt’s belly.

“Kurt?” Blaine says as he reaches Kurt’s table.

“Himself.”

Blaine holds his hand up, and Kurt shakes it, trying not to lose himself in the strong, soft hold of it.

“I have to say, I didn’t expect you to look so …,” Blaine says, voice trailing off as he looks at Kurt.

And there is nothing innocent or unappreciative in that look; if anything it’s like Blaine is checking him out.

Check away, good sir.

“So?” Kurt asks, needing Blaine to finish his sentence.

Blaine blushes, long eyelashes fluttering against the apple of his cheeks as he looks down. “Well, I didn’t expect someone who is looking for love at Scandal’s to look so … handsome.”

“Oh.”

Is it hot in here?

“You have to know that you are gorgeous?”

Could someone open a window?

“Oh, I, uh, that’s … um.”

Kurt Hummel, verbose as ever, ladies, gents and others.

Blaine chuckles lightly, his hand covering Kurt’s for a split second. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“I think I did that by myself last night,” Kurt mutters, forcing his lips to compose a smile.

“Au contraire,” Blaine says, leaning back in his chair. “Just give me a second to get something to drink–do you need anything?”

A bottle of oxygen and a fast course on how to woo a scrumptious looking man, please. With ice.

“No I’m good, thanks.”

Blaine goes in the thankfully short line, but all it does is give Kurt an opportunity to face Blaine’s back.

Holy bedazzled manure on a multigrain toast.

That should be forbidden, outlawed, locked behind bars.

My bed’s bars, specifically.

Alright, brain time to get out of the gutter for a second–Kurt needs all of his braincells to be in top shape if he wants to … go for the extra point on that touchdown.

… He’s going to kill his father for making him watch football.

But boy does Kurt want that extra point.

—

Blaine has never been so thankful for a barista taking their sweet time with his order–soy latte, extra hot, extra shot, extra caramel on top, what?–, for he definitely needs the time to compose himself.

What.

How.

How is it possible that someone that looks like the man he left at the table, who has the sense of humor and the wit displayed during their conversation in the dead of night, how is someone like that single?

Is everybody blind in this state, or wherever Kurt lives?

Not that he’s complaining, Blaine is definitely happy about that state of things, since it gives him the opportunity to try and get Kurt for himself.

Oh, to get those long, strong fingers on (in) him and those … oh, those legs should be illegal, but Blaine would love to see how they look around him.

Around his hips, around his face, behind him, Blaine is an equal opportunity kind of man.

Completely appropriate thoughts for a first encounter, congratulations Anderson, you’ve entered depraved territory.

“Blaine!”

Blaine gets his drink and rushes back to the table, lest Kurt was only a mirage.

“There you are,” he says as he sits down, smiling at Kurt. “Now about our epic love story …”

Kurt’s irrepressible responsive laughter is all Blaine needs.

—

Twenty years later

“Apo, apo, how did you meet Grandaddy?”

Blaine bounces Liza on his knees to make her wait, looking across the room for his husband and his son.

Both are huddled in a corner, laughing at him, traitors.

“Well, tala, once upon a night, your grandfather was feeling lonely and sad.”

“Aww.”

“Blaine …”

“But a … magical, um, pigeon, named Mason, told him that your papi was also lonely and sad.”

“Dad …”

“Did Mason fly grandaddy to your house?”

“Sure, let’s go with that.”

“Blaine!”

“Yes honey?”

“Isn’t Liza a bit … young, to hear about this story?”

Liza turns wide, blue eyes towards Kurt. “But it’s like a fairytale!”

Kurt opens his mouth before smiling fondly at the pair. “Yes. Yes it is.”


End file.
